Love is Madness
by TabusVakarian
Summary: Tera Kingsley moved to London in an attempt to escape her mundane life in Toronto. What she didn't expect was to be thrown into a dangerous world where thrill and adventure were regular parts of her daily program. After stumbling onto an ad for a flatmate, Tera meets Sherlock and John, two mysterious men with equally mysterious lives.
1. Flatmates

Tera sat at a small cafe in London, sipping her coffee and observing the area around her. She had always been told to expect nothing but rain in the city, but her first few weeks had been relatively dry. Cloudy, with minimal precipitation. Much like any city, people moved quickly, heading to and fro and wherever in a rush. She noted, however, this 'rush' was nowhere near the same kind of frantic hustle as downtown Toronto. Toronto, everyone just pushed and shoved through - you had to learn to navigate the barrage of people or risk getting elbowed and barely making it through the crowds.

Internationally, Canadians were known for being nice and polite. For the most part, they were. Except they also weren't. The people in London didn't seem extra friendly either, but they seemed to be an improvement on the Toronto crowd. In Tera's books, anyway.

Her gaze drifted to the line of people at the edge of the coffee shop, waiting for their morning Java. Office workers, construction workers, businessmen, grouchy college students nursing a hangover - it was a mixed crowd. Not surprising being that this area seemed to be a junction of all sorts of areas of city life.

She drummed her fingers on the table absentmindedly, something she did whenever she was anxious or deep in thought. Scrolling through a list of flat advertisements online, she found herself rather dismayed. So far, her hunt for a flat had been, well… falling quite flat. Prior to today, she had looked at four, and none had been quite up her alley.

Two were affordable but appeared to be a front for some kind of drug den. One turned out to have a creepy old man looking for a flatmate. He had jeered and winked at her, slurring through his drunkenness about hoping a 'pretty young thing' would apply. Tera shuttered, recalling how quickly she had torn out of that place. The fourth had been lovely, in an upper-class neighbourhood with a beautiful balcony. It turned out, however, that there had been a typo in the advert, and the first two digits were switched around. The actual price was far out of her range.

She had one more interview today - flat not too far from the cafe she was currently eating her breakfast at, and she silently prayed that this would be the place. The funds she had set aside for staying in a hotel until finding a more permanent home were nearly depleted, and she wasn't prepared to break her budget just yet.

The bagel in front of her was calling her name - the first one she had in a month, despite it being her favourite food. She had decided to lay off the carbs for a while, but this morning, wanted to indulge. It was freshly baked, smeared with the perfect amount of cream cheese, beckoning for her to bite into it.

 _One cheat. Just enjoy it, and remember it._ She told herself, hoping it wouldn't disappoint.

She lifted the bagel to her mouth and bit into it, flavour exploding. She was so enthralled, a moan of pleasure escaped her lips and she flushed, looking up and hoping no-one had heard. Unfortunately, someone had indeed noticed.

A tall man with dark, curly hair, piercing blue eyes, and very high, sharp cheekbones stood glaring at her. His eyes flicked to her table, eyeing her camera, open Macbook with an Obama and Biden meme stuck to the front, flicking back to her hand with the bagel, then returning to glaring at her.

He was attractive and well-dressed, she noted, though he seemed displeased at everything around him. His gaze was intense, like he was trying to figure out everything about her with just one look.

After a few moments, he spoke with a grumble before walking away, coffee cup in hand.

"Americans and their obsession with food."

Tera snorted and called out after him, "Canadians! Canadians and their obsession with food." Grinning widely, she seemed pleased with herself as the man paused, stiffened slightly, then walked away. She loved correcting people's misconceptions.

She watched as he continued forward, up until he disappeared into the crowd. His body language seemed to do everything it could to deem him unapproachable - wherever it was he was heading, he wanted no interactions with another human being.

Once he was no longer within view, she glanced at her watch and realized she only had a few minutes left before she would have to head to the flat. She had a few emails to send off and wanted to get them finished prior. A couple resumes, a query letter, and accepting an offer for a sponsored blog series on moving to London on a whim from Canada. _Although,_ she mused as she clicked send, she wasn't _'unemployed'. Just not… employed_.

Snapping the lid down on her Macbook, she smiled at the meme on its front. "Find someone who looks at you the way Biden looks at Obama." She knew that was why the terse man had thought she was American, which amused her further. People observed for telling facts about someone they encountered, though most didn't look too deeply.

She slipped the laptop into her carrier and stood up, tossing the paper plate in the garbage and snatching up her coffee cup and map. One more glance at it to remind herself of the directions. Tera had drawn a big, red circle around the location, with the address sprawled above.

221B Baker Street.

The advert was rather bleak, providing only the rent amount and a request that this person must be willing to do groceries and some cooking. As long as it wasn't another few creepers, Tera felt she would be more than thrilled with it. She loved cooking anyway, so having an excuse for cooking for more than just herself was a good thing.

Tera noted the shift in the neighbourhood atmosphere as she made her way down the street, around a few corners, and eventually turned onto Baker Street. It grew quieter, more of a residential area it seemed. Not quite high end, but not low end either. Moreso right in the middle. She counted the numbers and found herself pleased as she landed in front of a door right beside a cafe. Having quick, easy access to coffee was always a perk.

Looking up at the black door, there was an ominous feeling in her gut. Not the kind that makes you want to run in fear, but rather, the kind that tells you everything is about to change if you walk through that door, whether it's a metaphorical one, or in this case literal.

But, it was just an interview for a flat. How much could that change things?

She shook her head clear of thoughts and reached up to ring the buzzer. Hurried steps came towards the door, the lock unclicked, and it swung open revealing a cheerful looking older woman.

"Yes?"

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm here to interview about the roommate spot in the flat?"

She looked confused for a moment. "I didn't advertise for any… Oh! Sherlock," she said scoldingly, casting a glance up the old wooden stairs. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, the landlord. Come with me."

Tera followed her inside, noting how clean the place was, and the small, modest kitchen at the end of the hallway that looked like it hadn't been updated since the 1950s. There was no ring on Mrs. Hudson's finger and very few belongings from what Tera could see on the lower level. Single, possibly never married. Doing quite well for herself as a landlord, from what she could gather. She grinned as they walked up the stairs. The very definition of a self-sufficient woman _Power on, Mrs. Hudson. Power on!_

Only a few steps up was an incredibly creaky board, and Tera winced as she stepped on it. Creaky boards irritated her, always reminding her of some horror movie or something awful waiting to happen.

Mrs. Hudson led her up the stairs to the first level, and to a door that opened up to a living room, packed with books, scientific equipment, papers, and more. A table placed in between the two windows was littered with more papers and equipment. Despite the cleanliness of the rest of the house, this room was quite the mess. Hunched over the table was a man, though Tera couldn't see much about him beyond his backside.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said cautiously.

"Not now."

"Sherlock." Her tone slightly more agitated.

"Not now, I'm waiting on an appointment."

"Your appointment is here," she said.

"Well, why didn't you just say so," he muttered grouchily as he stood.

Black curly hair. Tall. Tera blinked. There was no way, it couldn't be, could it? The man turned to face her, piercing blue eyes narrowing as he saw her.

"You."

Tera snorted. "And you."

"What are you doing here, in my flat?"

"Well, I didn't know it was your flat. I'm here about the flatmate advertisement."

"Oi, what did you just say?" another man shouted from the kitchen, hurrying in. "What do you mean, flatmate? Sherlock, what is going on?"

Sherlock glanced over at the other man, rolling his eyes as if shocked that no-one else understood the answer without being told. "I'm not kicking you out, John, if that's what you're thinking. There's an empty bedroom on the third floor, and since you keep insisting on trying to find a job to help pay the rent I assumed bringing in a third person to cover a portion of the rent would alleviate that need for you, freeing you up to work with me."

"Well," John began, shifting nervously. "You could have told me."

Sherlock snorted. "Well, now you've been told." Sherlock turned back to his table, pulling a piece of paper off the printer and shuffling some things around.

Tera had only just realized that Mrs. Hudson had disappeared, and John was looking at her apologetically as he offered out his hand.

"Hullo, I'm John. John Watson."

Smiling, she shook his hand back. He seemed like a friendlier sort, putting him at odds with his aggressive roommate. Or perhaps they were more than roommates? Lovers, maybe? John appeared to be down to earth, but Sherlock - Sherlock was in a league of his own. His expecting that people knew answers without him giving them said a lot. He was intelligent, most definitely more than the average person. The mess in the room - he clearly felt there were more important things than organization, so he was task oriented.

"I'm-" she began, but was cut off by Sherlock, who whipped around to look at her and began to speak quickly.

"You're Tera Kingsley, a new resident of London looking for a flat. I'm guessing early twenties, you've taken a year off college, based on your outfit - skinny jeans, and a band t-shirt, Mickey Mouse side-bag, and some kind of cartoon sneakers.. You've got no idea what you're doing here, but thought you'd be on a grand adventure."

Tera crossed her arms, unamused at the man's tirade.

"You have an indent on your ring finger from a ring that has been there frequently, but also taken off frequently. Married young? Serial cheater? Or perhaps you've fled here to get away from the husband you shouldn't have married so early."

He walked closer, peering over her like she was a subject in a science fair, and Tera watched him back, unflinching under his gaze.

"You're used to being the smartest person in the room at your college, which was why you felt the need to correct me on your nationality. It's also why you left, tired of feeling like things were too easy. Should I go on?"

Tera crossed her arms and laughed. "Amazing."

Sherlock smirked in satisfaction and walked over to the table again.

"Isn't it?" John replied. "He can tell anything about a person, it's frightening, really."

"No, it's amazing that beyond my name - which he already knew - and my being here, every single thing he said was wrong."

John blinked at her like she had just spoken a foreign language. Sherlock froze, and slowly turned back to face her, his nostrils flaring slightly in annoyance.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Let me give this a try," Tera drawled, walking around the room. She could feel Sherlock's eyes boring into her, and she wondered if he was wishing she would just disappear into a pile of ash right there.

She examined everything, from the human skull on the mantelpiece, to the hundreds of books on the shelf. Criminology, true crime, criminal studies, science, interrogation tactics, martial arts; all geared towards understanding and solving crimes. She looked back over at the fuming man - his clothes were expensive, but functional, not designed to show wealth.

"Besides the obvious, which is that you are a pompous ass," she began, fighting the urge to grin as John choked down a laugh behind her. "You're wealthy and bored. Unlike me, whom you emphasized on _thinks_ they are the smartest in the room, you _are_ the smartest in any room. You're a high-functioning sociopath, obsessed with solving crime. But you're not a vigilante seeking justice. If you were, there would be news of mass crimes being solved. There's not."

She looked over at Sherlock, whose anger was being replaced by thoughtful examination. "You're rich and arrogant, and believe that those around you are merely annoyances distracting you from the true goal, which is to solve mystery. Except John. You enjoy his company, although you pretend not to, whether it's because of some odd romantic connection or friendship. You don't work for a living - you believe work to be a waste of time and would rather solve crime because it's more fun. People are a means to an end to you, sentiment is wasteful, and menial tasks are below you."

Pausing at his computer desk, she looked over at him again. "How'd I do?"

"Bloody hell," John said, walking further into the room. "Don't tell me there's another you."

Sherlock smiled with amusement, looking in a way that Tera hoped expressed being impressed. "No, there's not another me. But in her assessment - which was rather astute, I might add - she did reveal everything about herself."

"But, how did she do that?" John gaped.

"She's a writer, John. Judging from her casing of the room, likely trained as a journalist." Sherlock said. "I should have picked up on that at the cafe, but I was too annoyed by her loud indulgements. The laptop, and the camera; I assumed they were there for tourist purposes, given the map, but that's not true, she was putting in some work before trying to find her way here."

He walked over to her, sizing her up. "Given that little tidbit, the rest falls into place."

Motioning for her to take a seat in the brown chair, he sat down across from her and waited for John to join them, who leaned against the table.

"You're much older than you appear, early thirties, likely 31, and because of that, you're used to having to assert your way for people to take you seriously. You gain amusement out of showing people they're wrong, it gives you a thrill. The indent on your finger is from a fake ring that you wore as a reporter, deterring interview subjects and people at media gatherings from thinking you were single. You're here because you're bored and looking for something to give you the same spark that threw you into reporting as a young college graduate. An only child, you're used to getting what you want, although you hate to have it handed to you. You earn it because of this need to prove yourself. You've moved here without a job and intend on freelancing your way through."

He paused, looking at her. Now, it was Tera's turn to definitely look impressed.

"Shall I continue?"

"You can if you'd like, but you pretty much got it."

John sat gaping, looking between the two, unsure of what to think. "What just happened?"

"Ms. Kingsley just got an offer to move into our flat."

Tera grinned. "I accept."

"Of course you do, why wouldn't you?" Sherlock retorted, standing back up. "There are a few rules. You don't touch anything that belongs to me. You do not leak stories about me to the press, you'll come with John and me whenever I tell you to, and you'll do the cooking and the groceries as discussed in the ad."

"Wait, what's wrong with me doing the groceries?" John protested.

"You always return claiming you had an altercation with a chip-and-pin machine."

John looked as if he was about to defend himself, and then stopped, thinking the better of it.

"When can I move in?" Tera piped up, trying to distract from the obviously uncomfortable silence.

"I'll send a car for your belongings," Sherlock said nonchalantly as he returned to whatever he had been working on when she came in.

"You don't have to-"

"I'll send a car."

"Okay then." She looked over at John who merely shrugged.

"I'll show you to your room. Sherlock is a bit, uhm, preoccupied."

* * *

 **Tera's things had shown up a few hours later** and she began to unpack her belongings, settling in as quickly as she could. Furniture had already been provided, something she assumed that was courtesy of Sherlock, which saved some of the money in her budget. She would be out the money for her hotel room that night, but it was better than being out the rest of her funds and being homeless.

Unlike Sherlock's chaos, Tera required things to be organized and specific. Books, clothing, laptop; everything had its specific place. She paced the room for a bit, unsure of whether to go and spend time with her new flatmates or to hide in her new room. It wasn't quite late enough to start cooking dinner yet, although she realized she had no idea when they preferred to eat.

She slipped on some more comfortable clothing - leggings and a long shirt - and made her way downstairs.

"Anytime, now," Sherlock said as she entered the room.

"What?"

"You were coming down to ask when we prefer to eat, were you not?"

Slightly startled, Tera stammered. "Uhm, yes?"

"The answer to that is anytime now. There are some meat and veggies in the fridge. You'll need to do groceries in the morning."

With that, he went back to pretending as if she didn't exist. Still bewildered, she entered the kitchen, looking through cupboards to find cooking utensils and dishes.

"You'll eventually get used to that," John said, leaning on the doorframe as he watched her.

She looked over, noting the kind smile on his face. At least one of them was personable.

"Get used to what exactly?"

"Him predicting everything. He likes to believe every person is completely predictable."

"And are they?"

"No, but he's happier believing that. He usually gets it right, anyhow. People still surprise him, though he'll never admit it."

Tera smiled. "How did you surprise him?"

"I killed a man to save his life."

Blinking, Tera stood slowly and looked at him with a pure look of horror on her face. "You did what?"

Realizing how it must sound to someone who wasn't aware of the story, John dropped his jaw and started stumbling for an explanation. "Oh gosh, no, not like that. I didn't just go out and murder someone. Sherlock was on a case to catch a serial killer, and the killer set his sight on him. He would find ways to trick you into taking a poisonous pill. He was trying to convince Sherlock, and even though he says he wouldn't, Sherlock was tempted to take it. To see if he could win the game. I couldn't let that happen. I was in the building across, and it was save Sherlock or watch him die."

"So you shot the man," Tera mused, looking a little less terrified. "To make a shot like that, you're what, ex-military?"

John nodded. "Military doctor, actually."

"Impressive." Tera moved towards the fridge, opened the door, and screamed in shock as a head stared back out at her. "Good god, what in the hell is a head doing in your fridge?"

"Experiment," Sherlock said loudly from the other room. "And would you mind keeping those annoying screams to a minimum? I can't work with frightened girls getting all yappy."

"You'll get used to that, too," John said apologetically.

Tera sighed and leaned back against the fridge door. "Would you mind getting the food out for me? I can't with that thing in there."

She watched as John pulled food from another shelf, relieved it was completely sealed. As she stared ashen-faced at the head, she found herself wondering if she had made a grave mistake, silently scolding herself for not taking that ominous feeling a little more seriously.

"So what's the story between you two?" Tera asked, trying to change the subject as she began cutting the vegetables.

"We're just friends," John stammered. Clearly, this was a point of contention. "Why does everyone think there's more?"

Tera shrugged. "It's a vibe, I guess. Mixed with how different you are."

"We're just friends," he reiterated, picking up a knife and another cutting board and assisting her in cutting the vegetables. "I'm straight as a nail."

"Good to know," Tera mused, chewing on her lower lip. It dawned on her, especially if they were both straight, she could end up in a lot of trouble living with two incredibly attractive British men. But getting away from drama had been part of why she moved so far away; her parent's divorce had gotten nasty and she just needed to breathe. Causing drama would not make anything better for herself.

John, clearly catching her comment, smirked slightly, then changed the subject. "So what exactly brought you to London?"

"A mix of things. Boredom, escaping my parents, a need for something new and fresh. I've always wanted to live abroad, and I adore England, so London it was. My job at the paper had become far too menial."

"Are you looking to get a job at a paper here?"

"Nope. I'm not sure what I want to do here. Freelancing for now. I'm sure I'll figure it out soon," she said.

"And you're not worried about finances?"

She shook her head. "I saved for three years to make this move, just so that I could have some time to settle in and figure myself out. I'm good for a few months, at least."

"Well, you'll never get bored living with Sherlock, that's for sure."

Tera chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully again. If Sherlock was half the man his belongings said he was, boring would be the last thing her life there could possibly be.


	2. The Black Lotus

Following dinner, Tera cleaned the kitchen quickly, packed up the leftovers, and asked John to put them away. She still wasn't quite ready to face the head in the fridge and felt any attempt to do so would likely result in the contents of her stomach ending up all over the fridge.

"We're going out," announced Sherlock as he pulled on his coat and tied his scarf around his neck. He glanced over at Tera, who was leaning against the counter in the kitchen. "That means you too. Can't have you mucking about the place trying to make it homey."

Tera rolled her eyes before heading to her room and retrieving her own jacket. She pulled on some black boots, catching up with John and Sherlock at the bottom of the stairs.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Looking for Chinese numbers." Sherlock hailed a cab and they climbed in. John and Sherlock sat on one side, Tera on the other. "We're dealing with two murders so far, and a missing Chinese woman, and they're connected to these symbols."

He motioned to John, who showed Tera a picture of a symbol spray-painted on a portrait.

"You're certain there are more numbers?" she asked, studying the images.

"These have shown up at each of the victim's houses, and one of my people found part of another one sprayed in an underground skate park. These numbers are a code and we need the cipher."

Tera peered at him curiously, not sure what to make of this. "And you trust me enough already to bring me along and fill me in?"

Sherlock snuffed. "It's not about trust. I need help observing. You're observant."

"Fair enough."

The taxi stopped at the edge of some train tracks, the three spilling out into the darkness. Sherlock handed John a flashlight. "You and Tera search that way," he said, nodding towards the direction the tracks were headed. "I'll search here."

Tera watched as Sherlock walked away, admiring his tenacity. He might have been pompous and terse when it came to dealing with people, but the moment work was involved he became hyper-focused and task oriented. He was intent on solving the puzzle.

"You coming?" John called, and Tera realized she had just been standing still and staring.

"Yes, sorry." She jogged up to him, watching the walls, trains, and tracks for anything that might resemble the symbols. There was a chill in the air, and Tera was thankful for her coat and boots in this weather. It was damp - much damper than she was used to. "So, these symbols, will they all be yellow?"

"That's what we've seen so far."

They reached an area in the trainyard with multiple brick walls and Tera pulled out her cell phone, turning on its internal flashlight. They each looked around, checking rocks, sides of containers, every surface that could potentially be home to one of the numbers. Both flashed their lights up on one of the walls at the same time, revealing an entire wall covered in Chinese numerals.

"Holy shit," Tera breathed. "I take it this is what you were looking for."

"I think so." John pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. "Let's go get Sherlock."

"Shouldn't one of us, I don't know, stay here?"

John looked at her slightly bewildered. "Alone, at night, in the dark? What exactly is going to happen to a wall in twenty minutes? It's not like paint will just vanish."

Ten minutes later, the three of them stood staring at the wall, covered in fresh paint with no signs of the symbols.

"I don't understand!" John was completely bewildered. "It was here. Twenty minutes ago. I saw it - we both saw it," he pointed over at Tera. "A whole load of graffiti!"

"So much for 'what exactly is going to happen in twenty minutes,'" Tera muttered softly behind him, imitating a British accent.

John glanced back at her. "I heard that."

Sherlock approached the wall and touched it, pulling away and examining his fingers before showing them the black paint on his fingers. "Someone doesn't want me to see it."

He looked between his two companions. "You both said you saw it?" They nodded.

Glancing at John then at Tera, he walked over to Tera and grabbed her by the head. "You have the better memory."

"What the hell?" she protested as Sherlock held her face.

"Shush, Tera! Concentrate. I need you to concentrate. Shut your eyes."

"What the hell are you doing?" Tera demanded, trying to pull out from him.

Sherlock's grip was a lot stronger than she had imagined, and she couldn't quite get away. He dropped his hands to her shoulders and began to spin her around. She closed her eyes, not quite sure why she was complying, but assuming at the least, it would stop her from getting overwhelmingly dizzy.

"I need you to maximize your visual memory. Try to picture what you saw. Can you remember?"

"I remember all of it," piped in John.

"Not now John, she has the photographic memory. I need her to access it."

"Sherlock, I took a photograph."

Sherlock stopped spinning Tera, who nearly toppled over as he let go. He smirked down at her and stepped away, earning a small growl as she pushed herself back to her feet.

"I took a photograph," John repeated, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and showing it to Sherlock.

* * *

 **By the time they returned to the flat,** it was well past midnight and John was yawning like he hadn't slept in ages.

"Well, if we're done adventuring for the night, I'm going to get some sleep." he said as he padded off towards the stairs.

"I need your help," Sherlock stated as he reviewed John's photograph.

John harrumphed as he started walking up the stairs. "You'll end up doing it all yourself, and then talking to me when I'm not even in the room anyways, just like you always do."

"That's not true. I'm always aware of when you are and aren't in the room. I'm not in the habit of talking to thin air." Sherlock rattled on, not even noticing John had left the room.

Tera sat quietly and observed, trying to further piece together the dynamics of their relationship. There was nothing emotional about Sherlock's tone, everything he said was clinical. The only emotions she had really seen from him so far were triumph and frustration, and perhaps once or twice, mild amusement.

Still, his need to have John all to himself, to not let John work, was in and of itself a display of emotional attachment. One she assumed, that even Sherlock himself didn't pick up on, likely rationalizing it away as a necessity or simply a factor of convenience.

"Stop staring at me like that." Sherlock's sharp tone snapped her out of her thoughts, and she matched his gaze.

"Like what?" she asked, not sure what expression exactly had been on her face.

"Like you're trying to get into the innermost corners of my mind and figure me out," he retorted. "You're not going to get it right. I don't have sentiments and attachments. There's nothing to figure out. I am exactly who I present myself as."

Tera snorted. "Nobody is exactly who they present themselves as. We all have secrets. We all have parts of ourselves we attempt to silence, wishing they didn't exist. But they're still there, still making us ourselves."

"Not. Me." Annoyance and frustration laced across his face as he glared at Tera, wondering why the woman wouldn't just take him at his word. Why she seemed to have this incessant need to outsmart him.

Tera stood, tossing the blanket she had been using back on the chair, and started to walk out of the room. She paused at the doorway and turned back to him.

"One day, Sherlock Holmes, you'll be forced to face those parts of yourself that you want to believe don't exist. When that time comes, I hope your stubbornness won't push you to do something so rash that it harms the very people causing those feelings to surface."

Before he could respond, she had disappeared up the stairway. Once in her bedroom, Tera changed into some pyjamas and crawled into bed, popping her laptop open. Her mind was racing far too much to go to sleep, so instead, she began work on the first in the blog series, telling how she eventually came upon a flat like no other.

* * *

 **Tera was woken by a loud screeching noise** shortly after three in the morning. She bolted upright in bed, her heart pounding and hand shaking. As her senses recovered, she realized it wasn't screeching, but rather a very loud violin.

"Who the hell plays the violin at this hour?" she muttered as she stumbled out of the room and down the stairs, hair a mess, and forgetting to grab her housecoat. Bleary-eyed, she pushed her way into the living room.

Sherlock was facing the fireplace, his body angled just enough towards her that she could see his eyes were closed, completely lost in the music. His fingers flew and his other hand guided the bow seamlessly, gliding it along as if it required little effort to play. He played masterfully, showcasing the talent of someone who deeply appreciates not just the music, but the art itself.

 _A form of sentimentality,_ Tera mused, mesmerized by the beauty of it. She lost track of time, completely sucked in by the music, standing there and watching.

She wasn't quite sure how long she had been standing there when Sherlock stopped playing, and without looking up, said, "I told you to stop staring at me like that."

"Sorry," she murmured. "I honestly wasn't trying to figure you out this time, just… absorbed in the music. It was beautiful. You play wonderfully."

"Of course," Sherlock said, finally looking over at her. "I master everything I decide to do."

"Modest too, apparently."

She could have sworn there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips before he turned to put away his instrument.

"I see no need for modesty. Someone is capable of something or they're not. There's no shame in excelling."

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly noticing the chill in the room. "There's a difference between being proud of yourself for your accomplishments and arrogance you know."

"Of course there isn't. One is simply pandering to make others feel better, the other is the honest truth."

Sherlock picked up the blanket she had tossed on the back of his chair earlier and walked over, holding it out to Tera. She wanted to look away from his intense gaze, feeling the heat raising up her neck, but refused to break it.

"Take yourself for example," he continued, staring her down. "Why would you act modest about your writing, particularly your obvious skill at journalism, when you excel above most of your colleagues? Should you not capitalize on that?"

"How do you know what my writing is like?"

There it was again, the hint of a smile - or was it a smirk - before he walked over to his desk and flipped open his laptop, revealing her blog open in the browser. Tera found herself unsure of whether she should be flattered or concerned that he was already stalking her on the internet. She had to admit though, she was slightly pleased that whether or not he liked her writing, he seemed to think she wrote well.

"When you write, do you question your skills? Do you apologize for your talent when you are starting a post or producing an article?"

"No, but modesty isn't apologizing for your skills, it's recognizing that there are others who are as skilled or better than you."

"Nobody's better than me."

Tera groaned and stalked over to the couch, flopping down on it. "You're the worst, you know that?" She stuck her leg out up over the arm, back flat on the cushions, staring at the ceiling.

The only response from Sherlock was what sounded like a mix between a short chuckle and a disgruntled snort. A few moments later, the picture of the wall and a thick Chinese-to-English dictionary landed on her stomach.

"If you're going to stay down here you may as well make yourself useful." A moment later, he was seated at his laptop again scrolling through something.

"Oh, I see how it is," Tera teased. "I do your work and you read my blog."

"Don't be silly, I can't be bothered with reading more of your drivel. I'm researching. Now please, be quiet so I can think."

Childishly, Tera stuck out her tongue at his back before propping herself up and digging into the textbook. It didn't take her long to translate, and once she was done, she joined Sherlock at the table as they began tossing back and forth possible ideas for what they could mean.

"Call signs?" Tera suggested. "Could correlate to the different smugglers?"

"No, closer, though. Some kind of communication, yes. But not call signs, no. Call signs could be left at places where the smugglers frequented or lived, letting them know there was something they were required to do. They wouldn't paint all the call signs in the same place at the same time. This has got to be more than that. But what? What are they saying? That's what we need to figure out. These numbers, they mean something."

They tossed theories around until dawn began to creep through the curtains and a sleepy John stumbled into the room yawning. At one point, Sherlock had printed off the sets of numbers and posted them in a collage on the wall with the translations below them.

"Have you two been at it all night?" John asked, glancing at Tera who was slowly nodding off to sleep at the table.

"Been at it," she giggled in a mumble. "If that's what the kids are calling it these days." Realizing she had actually spoken her thought out loud she immediately sat up, now wide awake, face bright red.

"I uhh… ignore what I said," she stammered.

John just stared at her, perplexed. "Does 'been at it' mean something else in Canada?"

Still staring at the wall, Sherlock replied dryly, "It does if you have the humour of a ten-year-old boy. Which, it seems that Tera does."

John continued to look perplexed for a moment and flushed slightly when he realized what was said. "Oh, oh gosh. Did you think? I didn't mean to suggest -"

"Relax, John. I was making a joke… apparently, those aren't appreciated around here." She tossed a look over at Sherlock, shrugged, then made her way to the kitchen to get some coffee.

Still appearing mildly uncomfortable, John walked over to Sherlock. "Were you able to come up with anything last night?"

The eighteen Chinese symbols had overtaken the entire wall, each translation in pairs - 3 and 19, 12 and 43, and on and on.

"Always in pairs, John. Look." Sherlock said, eyes wandering across the many pictures. "Numbers - they come with partners. Why would he paint it by the tracks? Tera thought call signs, but not with that many in one place. These - these were specific. Thousands of people pass by there every day…"

Tera returned with two cups of coffee, thrusting one at the yawning John and offering the other to Sherlock. Declining the offer, Sherlock blinked in surprise at the wall as Tera began to drink it herself.

"Of course! He wants information. He's contacting all his people in the underworld - not a call sign, but a message! Whatever was stolen, he wants it back. And it's somewhere here - in code. We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"Who?" Tera asked.

"She's the missing person we told you about, the one the killer is after next," John explained, stifling another yawn.

"And you know where to find her?"

Sherlock began walking towards his bedroom. "We'll start at the museum." Pausing, he looked over his shoulder and said, "You may want to consider putting on more clothing before we leave," before continuing into the bedroom and shutting the door.

* * *

 **The museum was fairly quiet when the trio arrived** , allowing them to drag Soo Lin's coworker, Andy off to the side to speak to him. Andy looked frustrated, dark circles around his eyes, indicating a lack of sleep. Tera watched him closely, reading his facial expression and reactions when Sherlock told him they needed to talk about the missing woman.

 _He liked her, a lot,_ she mused, feeling a pang of sympathy for the man. It's one thing when you deal with rejection from a love interest - but to have them completely vanish, regardless of whether the feelings were requited or not, must be even more difficult.

Sherlock was pushing him, obviously feeling the man had more information and just didn't realize it.

"Two men died after visiting China. The killer left them messages, written in the Hang Zhou numerals." Sherlock's tone was more than firm - almost scolding.

John stepped in, slightly kinder. Good cop, bad cop dynamic, Tera observed.

"Soo Lin Yao is in danger. That cipher - it was just the same pattern as the others. He means to kill her as well."

Andy looked at the ground and ran his hand through his curly hair, sighing in frustration. "I've tried everywhere. Her friends; her colleagues. I don't know where she's gone. She could be a thousand miles away."

Sherlock, however, was no longer paying attention. He was staring behind them at a case filled with old clay teapots. Tera frowned as she followed his gaze.

"Sherlock, what are you looking at?" she asked, walking towards the glass case.

Sherlock began to move towards the case as well, the other two following.

"Tell me more about those teapots," he said, pointing as he approached.

"Those pots were her obsession. They need urgent work. If they dry out the clay can start to crumble. Apparently, you have to keep making tea in them."

Inside the cabinet, two of the five teapots were gleaming, appearing to be freshly polished. Or, more correctly as Andy had explained, recently brewed in.

"Yesterday only one of those pots was shining," Sherlock said, bending down until they were at eye level.

Tera took a deep breath, whooshing it out as she spoke. "Soo Lin's here," she said quietly.

"Yes. I think it's time for us to meet her."

* * *

 **They returned just before dark** and found places to quietly hide away in the silent museum. Tera had always imagined museums would feel peaceful at night, but she couldn't shake the chill that seemed to cut through the air in spite of the warm temperature. They sat in silence in a darkened mop closet, squished closely together with Tera wedged in the middle.

Tera had tried to suggest she could hide elsewhere upon seeing how small the space was, but Sherlock had said it was the only door he tested that did not make noise upon opening it. And so they had pushed in, John standing in front of the door, Tera back-to-back with him, and Sherlock standing facing her.

"This is ridiculous," Tera muttered after half an hour. Her legs were starting to tingle and she had to keep flexing them to keep her feet from falling asleep.

"Stop talking," Sherlock ordered in a firm whisper, piercing blue eyes narrowed at her yet again.

She raised an eyebrow at him, unphased by his glare. After a full 24-hours with the man, she had received so many glares that they may as well have been his version of a smile.

"And if I don't?" she whispered back, challenging him.

"Then you can find a new place to live."

"He doesn't mean that," John piped in.

"I most certainly do."

"Now who's the one who won't stop talking?" Tera muttered.

Another unamused glare. She was about to make another snarky comment when the sound of moving metal, likely a grate, screeched through the echoey museum.

Tera tried to ask if that was what they were waiting for but was silenced by Sherlock covering her mouth and shaking his head slowly. She ignored the quickening of her pulse at his touch, telling herself it was just an emotional response to the man's terse behaviour. A few minutes later, very light footsteps passed by them, heading into the back room where Soo Lin's desk sat.

Quietly, John opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Sherlock released his hand from her mouth and pushed past her the moment they were out of the closet. They followed him into the back, the door having been left wide open as Soo Lin moved to her work station with another teapot.

A beautiful young woman sat pouring tea at her table, working ever cautiously with a methodic grace. Tera couldn't tear her eyes away as they slowly approached, Sherlock moving ahead of them in the silence.

He spoke only when he was beside Soo Lin. "Fancy a biscuit with tha-"

Soo Lin gasped in surprise, dropping the teapot. Quick as lightning, Sherlock caught the pot and handed it back to the woman.

"Centuries old. Wouldn't want to break that."

He turned on the light, John and Tera approaching and sitting at the bench across from Soo Lin. She told her story, explaining how she and her brother had ended up with The Black Lotus, and that her brother had returned to kill her. Zhi Zhu, 'the spider', was the assassin who had attacked Sherlock at Soo Lin's apartment, and the man responsible for the other murders. The code for the cipher, she revealed, was based on a book all the smugglers would have access to.

As she finished explaining, the lights flicked out, creating another ominous echo through the museum. Sherlock stood immediately, looking around.

"Zhi Zou," said Soo Lin sadly. "He has found me."

Sherlock took off running, Tera hot on his heels.

"Sherlock, Tera, wait!" John shouted from behind them, but neither one stopped.

They ran through the museum to the main lobby, looking around frantically for the killer. Neither saw as the man stepped out on the walkway above them, levelling a gun in their direction. The man opened fire, and Tera turned and ran for cover, heart thundering in her chest. Another shot, a bullet whizzing past her head. She was nearly at the statue when she felt another body collide into hers, taking her down to the ground with it. She held out her arms, bracing for impact and wincing at the pain of the extra weight.

For a brief moment she was terrified Sherlock had been shot, but she felt him push off her seconds later and breathed a sigh of relief. She rolled onto her back and Sherlock offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. He didn't say anything, but there was an odd look in his eye just before he turned and ran.

"Stay here," he said.

Tera ignored him and ran too, easily outpacing him. Up the stairs they tore, following the passing shadow until it disappeared into an exhibit filled with bones and other knick-knacks. A gunshot rang out behind them, and Tera grabbed Sherlock, pulling him to safety behind a pillar, her hands still holding onto the front sides of his coat as they breathed heavily, both nearly out of breath.

Sherlock leaned his head to the side, shouting, "Careful! Some of those skulls are over 2000 years old! Have a bit of respect!"

One more gunshot rang out and then silence.

"Thank you," Sherlock said.

Tera closed her eyes, breathing deeply and rhythmically, only realizing a few seconds later she had not released her grip on Sherlock's coat. She dropped her hands away, Sherlock staring at her with a blank expression. After another second of silence, Sherlock's expression turned perplexed, and he leaned out. The assassin was gone.

"Soo Lin!" Tera gasped, and shoved Sherlock away, running at full speed out of the exhibit and down the hallway. She could see Zhi Zhu running ahead in the darkness when she hit the stairs. She would have to turn and run back under them after reaching the lower level. There wasn't enough time.

 _Too slow to go all the way._ She was three quarters down when she pushed herself, jumping over the railing and landing on the ground in a crouched position. Sharp pains shot up her legs, her feet and ankles screaming in protest. Ignoring it, she continued to run full tilt, and she managed to catch up with the assassin just outside of the workspace.

There was no time to think - she charged forward, bending down and pummeling into him with her shoulder, knocking him into the wall.

Effortlessly, Zhi Zhu whipped around, grabbed her, and tossed Tera into an empty glass display case near them. As the glass shattered, she felt bits and pieces slice through clothing and skin, barely having enough time to contort herself so she wouldn't land on her back. Wincing with pain, she screamed "SOO LIN! RUN!" hoping the noise and her calls would reach the woman in time.

Footsteps ran towards her as pain flooded her body. Then, one more shot rang out through the night, and tears flooded into her eyes.

"Oh god." John's voice came from behind her, more footsteps echoing down the hall. Sherlock.

John went to lean down and Tera used her remaining strength to shake her head. "Go," she forced out. "Check on Soo Lin."

She knew sending him was futile, but Soo Lin shouldn't be left in there alone. Even if her life had been stolen.

 _She shouldn't be alone._

Taking a deep breath, Tera put her palms flat to the ground, cringing at the tiny shards of glass pressing in as she pushed herself up. Despite the pain, everything seemed to be functioning, so she hoped that meant no major arteries had been hit, and that she had been spared any detrimental injuries.

A hand grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her the rest of the way to her feet. Sherlock. His brow was creased slightly, though she couldn't quite identify if it was in worry or annoyance.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so," she said, glancing behind her. There was minimal blood in the glass and on the floor, nothing pooling. "I think it's just a few scrapes and minor cuts."

"Your face is bleeding." Sherlock reached up, and used his thumb to pull a small piece of glass off her forehead. With his other hand, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against the cut, wiping the blood away slowly.

Tera winced slightly as he moved his hand. "What you're not going to scold me for being dumb enough to attack an assassin?"

"You're the one who said it."

She smiled slightly, about to respond when John emerged from the back room, hand to his head in frustration. In his other hand was the printout of the Chinese symbols.

"I've called Dimmock, he and his men are on the way with an ambulance."

"Good." Sherlock turned to face his friend. "Maybe now he'll be willing to take this more seriously. John, I want you to take Tera back to the flat and take care of her."

He walked towards the work room, expecting John and Tera to simply follow his wishes. "Oh, and Tera," he said. "Don't bleed all over everything."


End file.
